Near To You
by Queen of Asgard
Summary: In which Nick is somewhat stubborn, and maybe a little insufferable. At least, in Rochelle's mind. Oh, and don't forget the bit about him being attractive. Rochelle x Nick, rated for mild sexual content.


**note**: I've been super sick for the past few days, so I really haven't gotten anything done. But I was laying in bed earlier, fantasizing about our favorite video game, and this idea just struck me like a lightning bolt. I just _had_ to finish it all in one go, and even though I'm pretty exhausted, I'm also pretty proud. I rather like this one, I have to admit, so I certainly hope you do too! I'd love to hear what you think. :)

Oh and... I don't think I'm so good at sexual stuff, so I tend to to keep it very vanilla and mild, I suppose. So I apologize if you were expecting graphic content, I guess that's just not my forte.

* * *

**NEAR TO YOU  
by: T'starla  
****- **

"Keep running! Don't look back!"

Nick's voice came from directly behind Rochelle, and she sent a prayer of thanks to whatever god that was listening – the storm was getting bad, and she'd been afraid one of the four of them would get separated.

However, by how loud the Witch's rage-filled cries sounded, Rochelle could tell that it (she?) was very close as well.

Hard to believe they'd gotten so unlucky. Rochelle and her teammates were all practically out of ammo – they definitely didn't have enough to fight off a Witch – and attempting to run through the flooded streets of the town was proving to be a difficulty all on its own.

Fortunately, the Witch behind them seemed to be having the same problems. It was probably why she hadn't caught up with them yet.

"Quick, get inside!" Ellis' voice could just barely be heard over the howling winds. He and Coach had already reached the safe room, and he was standing at the door as he waited for them.

Rochelle ducked inside quickly, and Nick threw himself after her. Ellis raised his magnum, aiming it with precision, and he shot once, right into the Witch's face, before he slammed the heavy door shut. For a moment, she still yowled and shrieked outside, but then she started sobbing again, and the sound slowly lessened as she retreated.

A ringing silence fell over them all.

Coach was bent slightly, his hands on his knees, and his large shoulders moving with his heavy breathing. Ellis had his forehead pressed against the door as he panted, and Rochelle herself was practically collapsed against a counter against the wall. Beside her, Nick all but tore his can of diesel fuel off of his back.

"Jesus Christ," he said, dropping it to the floor. "That was close."

Ellis turned away from the door, grinning. "Wasn't it?" he asked. "Boy, I thought you and Rochelle were goners."

"Gee, thanks," she said, giving him a little smile.

"Gotta admit," Coach said, "I'm with Ellis. I was starting to get a little worried when _I_ reached the safe house first."

Another hush fell over them as they took in their surroundings. They seemed to be in a small kitchen-like area, with counters and tables. There were ammunition and discarded weapons lying around, and the four of them quickly gathered what they would need. Rochelle was very pleased to find magazines for her sniper rifle.

There was also a crate of what looked like bottled water, and a couple of battery-operated lanterns. As if the person who'd lived here had been well-prepared.

"No health packs," Coach said, making a face. "None of y'all is hurt, right?"

"Not yet," Nick said, while Rochelle and Ellis shook their heads

"Good, good."

"It's late," Rochelle said, and she too dumped her can of diesel to the ground. It was a relief not to be carrying it anymore, even if she knew she'd have to pick it up again later. "We should probably get some rest, try and see if the storm lightens up any."

"Good idea," Ellis said, sighing. "I'm right bushed."

Coach nodded. "I'll take first watch," he said.

"No," Rochelle said quickly. "I'll do it. You've been taking all the watches lately, Coach, and I'll be honest, it worries me. We need you on your top game."

"Starting to sound like me, little sister," he said chuckling, but he didn't argue.

The kitchen-like room opened up into a wide hallway, which led to both a doorway, and a staircase. Upon investigation, the doorway revealed a dusty bedroom with a double bed, and the stairs led up to a few more rooms, along with a bathroom. The only one, mind you, that seemed to still have plumbing.

Nobody seemed to want to sleep in any of the rooms. Coach and Ellis rather preferred taking the makeshift beds on the floor, the sleeping bags and blankets that had been left behind by other survivors. Coach said something about the floor being good for his back, and nobody tried to disagree with that logic.

Rochelle was double-checking her handguns when she realized that Nick was still awake, sitting on one of the counters and staring at his legs. Her brow furrowed, and she neared him slowly, glancing towards the already slumbering Coach and Ellis.

"You okay, Nick?" she asked, keeping her tone low. "You've been awfully quiet since we got here."

"Fine," he answered. "Just kind of fed up with it all.... Rochelle, you should get some sleep."

"And I can say the same to you," she said. "You look like Hell."

"Hell's my middle name, princess," he said.

"Oh, aren't you just so tough?" she asked playfully.

His lips flickered like he was going to smirk, but he seemed to be holding it back. He shifted slightly, and Rochelle's smile faded as he winced. Without realizing what she was doing, Rochelle placed a hand on one of his knees.

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked seriously. "What's the matter?"

"It's nothing." He shook his head.

"Don't be an obstinate jackass, Nick," she said. "Are you hurt?"

For a long moment, Nick just studied her. "We only have one kit between us all," he said finally, gesturing to the health pack that was over her shoulder.

"That doesn't matter," she said, her tone slightly snappish.

Nick swallowed visibly, and then he nodded. "Witch got me," he said shortly. "Nothing major."

After a moment, when he realized she wasn't going to say anything, he slowly moved down from the counter. He turned away from her, and she was able to see the long slashes across his back – his jacket and shirt were torn, and blood already stained them. Rochelle felt her jaw drop slightly – it didn't seem _that_ bad, but she couldn't believe he'd tried to hide this.

"What the Hell is wrong with you?" she hissed, grabbing his arm and turning him back to face her. "You were just going to pretend it hadn't happened?"

"At least until we got back to the boat," Nick said, his tone growing short as well. He apparently didn't like it when Rochelle got huffy with him. Not that she cared. "It's no big deal."

"_Nick_," she said, "You should at least let us know when you're in pain, damnit."

"Calm down, fireball," he said, rolling his green eyes.

"You are so unbelievable," she said. "And so stubborn."

"Are you done insulting me?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I hurting your feelings?" she asked.

Grabbing his arm once more, she all but dragged him away from the kitchen. She feared that she might get a little loud if she and Nick continued to banter, and poor Ellis and Coach needed their rest.

She led Nick to the bedroom, shutting the door behind them, and she ripped her medkit off of her shoulder, tearing into it. She couldn't explain why she was so angry? She didn't want to admit, even to herself, that it was because Nick had gotten hurt.

She didn't like when he got hurt.

"You're gonna have to take off your shirt," she said.

"This isn't exactly how I pictured this, to be frank," he said.

She rolled her eyes at his joke, and he must have seen the fire in her expression, because he shrugged out of his jacket. He cringed, expression one of pain, and he dropped the jacket onto the bed, before he started to unbutton his shirt.

Rochelle tried to busy herself with the health pack, but she couldn't help but watch him. So maybe she was curious to see what he looked like without a shirt – who wouldn't be? He didn't seem to notice her watching, thankfully, and she was free to observe and examine all she wanted.

His chest was broad, muscular but not overly so. He _did_ seem like the type who might have, at least at one point, prided himself on his body image – think Patrick Bateman in American Psycho. Maybe he'd let himself go over the past few years, but he still had a nice build.

Rochelle didn't have long to admire this however, because Nick turned away from her once more, and she was faced with his wounded back. Most of the blood was already drying against his skin, but some still flowed freely from the gashes. They didn't seem too deep, but they definitely needed to be bandaged.

"I can't believe you were going to keep this from us," she said.

He said nothing as she started to clean him up. The shadowed room was silent as she worked, the only light coming from the lantern she'd brought with her, which was currently sitting on one of the bedside tables.

"I guess it's not so bad," she said, starting to bandage him up. This part got a little awkward, as she had to reach around him to do this. He stood almost completely still though, and he didn't make it hard for her. "It certainly could have been worse."

"I could have dealt with it," he said, but there was nothing critical about his tone.

"Maybe I didn't want you to. I wouldn't want any of you to."

Rochelle finished bandaging him up, and as he slowly turned to face her, she struggled to keep her mind straight, her thoughts organized. Now wasn't the time to be enjoying the view, and it surely wasn't the place – an abandoned bedroom that had belonged to God knew who – she felt silly, if not a little guilty.

But Nick was... well, she'd always thought he was good-looking, in an unconventional kind of way. And as attractive as he was with his shirt on, he was even more so with it off.

She forced her gaze downwards, able to feel his stare burning into her, and she shoved the remnants of the gauze back into the medkit. She swallowed against her dry throat, fighting to say something. When she spoke, she was very glad to hear her tone was cool.

"You're a lot more built than I would have thought, old man."

His lips quirked up at the ends, and one of his eyebrows arched. "Old man?" he echoed. "And just how old are you?"

Rochelle gave him a short look. "Twenty-nine," she answered.

"Likely story. Every woman's twenty-nine after a certain point."

"I'm kind of offended, Nicholas," she said. "How old do you _think_ I am?"

A small silence passed over them, and he eyed her up and down. She was suddenly all too aware of how close they were standing, and she found her gaze moving over his bare chest once more – at least, what wasn't now covered by the gauze bandage. He cocked his head thoughtfully as his gaze returned to hers, and she lifted her chin, mentally daring him.

"I suppose, when you aren't covered in bruises and scratches, that you can look quite nice," he said slowly, as if he were choosing his words carefully. "Maybe you can even pass for twenty-five."

"Maybe?" she asked.

"Maybe definitely."

"Are you trying to flatter me?" she asked, now raising her own eyebrows.

"Well, you _did_ just use the last health pack on me," he answered.

"Yeah, I should have saved it for someone a little more deserving," she said playfully. "Someone a little less stubborn and insufferable."

"Insufferable?" he asked, and he licked his chapped lips as he looked away. He seemed like he almost wanted to laugh, and she realized that the only time she ever heard him even give a chuckle was when he was making fun of Ellis. She wondered what it sounded like when he genuinely laughed.

If he ever did it.

"You aren't denying it," she said.

"So I'm not." He shrugged. His smirk faded as a stillness grew around them again, and his eyes locked with hers. There was something strange in his expression, something she didn't think she'd ever seen before. Something that made her heart flutter. And God, what was wrong with her? She hadn't felt like that since college. "Ro...."

"Yeah?"

Unpredictably, one of Nick's hands came up, lightly stroking the side of her face. His skin was calloused from handling his weapons, no doubt, but his touch set her on fire. Her pulse pounded heavily in her ears, so loud she was sure that it would wake Coach and Ellis outside the bedroom, and there was something like butterflies in her stomach.

What was wrong with her? She wasn't supposed to be feeling like this during a God damned zombie apocalypse. It was so selfish of her to enjoy this, to get pleasure from such a simple thing as Nick caressing her cheek.

But damn if she didn't _need_ it. She yearned for it.

She wanted to feel good again, to feel pretty and womanly.

His fingers ghosted over the scratch under her left eye, and his gaze never left hers. Even as he started to lean towards her, he stared at her – his eyes were searching her face like he was waiting for her to object.

And a small part of Rochelle knew that she should have. There wasn't any time for this, they should have been resting up so that they could head out in a couple of hours.

_But the storm hasn't let up_, a voice said in the back of her mind. _You wanted to wait until the storm let up, and it's still coming down as heavy as it was before. What's a little _fun_ to pass the time_?

Nick's lips touched hers, and everything else melted away from her. For just an instant – and she knew it was probably her sleep deprivation – she felt like the floor disappeared from beneath her feet. The kiss was light at first, but in moments he deepened it. His dry lips were hard against hers, forceful even, and the hand that had been caressing her face moved to rest against the side of her neck. He held her there, as if he feared she'd try to pull away.

He kissed her firmly, and she realized that she was returning it with just as much fervor, and her arms had somehow found themselves around his neck, the medkit falling to the dingy floor. She slanted her lips against his, and she intensified the kiss, pushing her tongue into his mouth.

She explored the warmth of his mouth like she was claiming it as her own, and the hand that wasn't holding her by her neck went down to her hip, grasping it tightly. If she'd been in her right mind, she might have realized how insane this was – her and _Nick_, together like this.

But it felt right. And more importantly, it felt good.

Her fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, and she pulled at it slightly as their mouths moved against one another's. When his lips abruptly left hers, it was not to halt the kissing, but to move to her chin and jawbone. It was mind over matter, but she was sure that she'd never been kissed like this before. Most of the men she'd dated in her life had been... soft, to say the least.

Rochelle was proud of her independence. She liked her dominant personality, and she rarely dated men with whom she'd end up butting heads. It was just easier that way, and maybe a teeny, tiny part of her liked bossing people around. On occasion at least.

But Nick was so different. He was the fuel to her fire, the detonator to her bomb. Hell, the ammunition to her guns.

A noise welled in her throat as the hand on her hip moved backwards, then squeezed at her backside. Everything about him was rough, and that was what she needed.

"Want me to stop?" he asked between the hard kisses he was delivering to her jaw.

"You wouldn't, even if I said yes," she answered breathlessly, smiling.

"Maybe not."

Before she knew it, Rochelle was being practically picked up and tossed onto the bed. Later in life – maybe even later on in the day – she might grow to resent herself.

Here was a home, a very nice home in fact, that had at once been occupied by somebody. By the decor and whatnot littered throughout the abandoned house, Rochelle had guessed it'd been a small family who'd lived there. The husband and wife had probably slept in this bed, maybe he'd served her breakfast in this bed, and maybe on some mornings their children would join them before it was time for them to get up for school.

And there were Nick and Rochelle, rolling around in it like they lived there.

Like the world wasn't ending.

The pillows smelled like mildew, so Rochelle tossed them to the floor. The bed creaked and groaned under their weight, so they tried to be careful with it. Rochelle noticed a broken mirror on the back of the door – her reflection was doubled, lying there with Nick over top of her – so she looked away.

She just wanted to forget about everything. Everything but Nick.

They didn't completely strip down, and the sex wasn't as romantic or aesthetic as a movie might make it seem – it was fast and uncoordinated. He pulled her shirt off clumsily, dropping it onto the bed beside them, and his hands roamed freely over her body, coarse and strong. Her hands went to his pants, fingers fumbling to undo them.

Nick leaned down and gave her a tough and deep kiss again. Then he nearly yanked her jeans down – only to about her knees or so – and rolled her onto her side. He moved behind her, spooning her, and when he entered her, she was able to relax.

She was able to forget.

They moved together, as one. Her hands grasped at the edge of the mattress, then curled into the rumpled bed sheets beneath them, looking for anything to hold onto. One of his hands came up to her face, which he stroked again, and then he grabbed her neck once more. There was nothing threatening in this gesture, although Rochelle _did_ think it could have been considered somewhat possessive, if she had been reading between the lines.

She bit her bottom lip so hard that she tasted blood, and while moans built in her chest and throat, she forced them away. Nick's breathing was harsh and heavy in her ear, tickling her skin, and he whispered something insignificant to her. Something that meant nothing, yet everything.

It was what Rochelle needed. For the first time since she'd been sent to Savannah, she was happy. She didn't have to think about her family back in Cleveland, or the shit job she was working while she tried to make a name for herself. She didn't even have to think about the, you know, whole zombie thing.

Only Nick.

Only this.

* * *

When Rochelle awoke, she was alone.

The darkness of the room was penetrated by beams of dull sunshine that came in between the boards that covered the window, meaning that morning had come. As Rochelle pulled her shirt on, she could feel the way her brow stitched as she thought.

Should she have felt awkward? She didn't. Did Nick feel awkward?

Exiting the bedroom, she came face-to-face with Ellis, who looked like he had just been ready to knock on the door. He started as she appeared, stumbling backwards slightly, and then he offered up one of his boyish grins.

"Well mornin', Sleepin' Beauty," he said, all to cheerily. "Was just about to wake you up."

"What time is it?" she asked, glancing briefly around her. The large hall was more brightly-lit than the bedroom had been, as the slats on some of the windows had come loose. "I didn't mean to sleep so late."

"It's only about nine, I reckon," he said. "And don't worry none, Ro. If anyone deserved a good night's sleep, it was you – you spend all your time worryin' 'bout the rest of us."

"Guess it's an instinct," she said. "Mother hen, or something like that."

"Don't look old enough to be a mother hen," Ellis mumbled sheepishly, before his grin returned. "Hungry? You'll never guess what we found stored here...." He waited, as if he actually expected her to guess.

"Um... well, I assume it's not going to be something as divine as honey blueberry blintzes," she said slowly.

Ellis' brow furrowed, his head cocking like a confused puppy. "The hell's a blintz?" he asked.

"Nevermind."

Ellis shrugged, and then he held up a plastic bag. "Beef jerky!" he said.

"Oh, yay," she said, and despite her lack of enthusiasm, she did have to smile. Ellis just had that effect on you.

"Supposed to be good for energy or somethin' like that. Think I read that somewhere," Ellis said, thrusting the bag into her hands. "Have as much as you like, I'm plannin' on takin' it with me."

"Shouldn't we leave it?" she asked, "Just in case someone else comes by these parts and needs it?"

"We need it," he said, very simply. "Oh, hey, I found out this place has an attic – want to go check it out with me? We might find some cool shit up there."

"I think I'll have to pass," Rochelle said, making a sympathetic face at him. "But next time, definitely."

"Suit yourself," he said. "I know you'll be jealous when I come back down with somethin' really awesome."

"What are you expecting to find?" she asked curiously.

"Who knows?" he asked, throwing his arms out. "That's the excitement of it all."

And with that, he practically bounded away from her. Smiling to herself, she turned and glanced towards the front of the house, where she found the other men sitting. Nick and Coach had found metal foldout chairs, and were sitting across from one another in front of the door, speaking in low tones to each other.

As Rochelle neared them, they both glanced up at her. And for some reason, she didn't want to meet Nick's gaze.

Coach gave her a smile. "Sleep well?" he asked her. He rubbed at his knee slightly – she knew it acted up when it rained – and he stood up.

"Surprisingly so," she answered. "You guys should have woken me."

"Nonsense." Coach shook his head, dismissing her words with a wave of his hand as he neared her. He then glanced down at the bag of jerky in her hands, and raised his eyebrows at her. "Mind if I?" he asked.

"Oh, no, not at all," she said, and he pulled out a big piece for himself. "But Ellis might."

"That boy...." He shook his head again, but said no more as he slipped past her and went back towards the kitchenette area.

With a silent sigh, Rochelle glanced back at Nick. He'd sat back in his chair some, and was watching her. He almost seemed like he was waiting for something.

"Hi," she said.

He nodded in response.

She took Coach's seat, and held the bag of jerky out. Nick shook his head this time, and she shrugged as she pulled out a hunk. "Did you sleep at all?" she asked him, proud of the casualness in her tone.

"I got a little bit of shuteye in," he answered. He was still watching her, and she chewed the jerky self-consciously.

"I had a crazy dream last night," she said, shaking her head. She didn't know why she was telling him this – maybe just to fill the void. "Thought I was back in Cleveland. It felt really... real."

"It happens." His turn to shrug.

She bit off another piece and chewed slowly, mulling over her options in her mind. "How's your back?" she asked finally.

"Not as bad as you thought it was," he said, and his lips quirked playfully. "Nurse Rochelle to the rescue."

"Well, of course," she said. "Didn't want to have to put up with the subsequent bitching and moaning that might come from an injured Nick. You're very whiny, you know."

"Oh, well there was definitely moaning," he said, nodding. "Not so much bitching, but moans for sure. And actually, I think most of them came from _you_."

Rochelle almost blushed, and she smiled down at the bag of beef jerky. "So that's how you want to play it?" she asked.

"I'm calling it as I see it," he said casually.

"Okay," she said, nodding. "So should I start calling you Two Stroke? Or maybe Forty Second Man?"

His eyebrows shot up, as if he couldn't believe she'd said that. He seemed to be biting back a grin. "Hey," he said, "It'd been a while, okay? And besides, it was at least fifty-five seconds."

"Whatever you say."

"I ought to --"

"What?" she asked. "You ought to what? Try to prove me wrong? Try and _fail_, might I add?"

"I could always throw you over my knee," he said, and he finally let his grin show, wolfish and sly. "But you might like it too much."

"Watch it, fireball," she said, pointing her finger at him as she threw his own nickname back at him. "You're not supposed to talk to a lady like that."

"You want to see how I talk to ladies?" he asked, leaning towards her. His tone had dropped into a suggestive lull, and it made Rochelle's heart flutter just barely.

The small silence was broken by the thunderous footsteps that announced Ellis' descent down the stairs. He jumped down the last four of them, landing with ease, and he was hiding something behind his back. He looked like a little kid on Christmas.

"You guys," he said, glancing from Nick and Rochelle to Coach, "Are never gonna guess what I found up there."

"Lord, give me strength," Coach said, looking towards the ceiling.

"_This_." Ellis was suddenly brandishing a katana sword, and he swiped it through the air a few times. "Look at this sweet ass ninja sword! I'm gonna kick some major zombie _ass_ with this, you don't even know. Why would someone hide this in a dusty ol' attic?"

Looking back down at his find, Ellis made his way towards where Coach was strapping his green can of diesel to his back, and Rochelle turned to Nick again. For a long moment, she stared at the top buttons of his blue shirt, and then she raised her eyebrows.

"Moment's kind of ruined, isn't it?" she asked.

"Just a little bit," he answered. "So I guess that's our cue."

As they stood up and pushed the chairs aside, Rochelle moved towards the red metal door to look out through the bars. The area was still flooded, and the dark clouds above them threatened more storms to come, but besides that it seemed relatively peaceful. Of course, when you do what they did on a daily basis, you start to realize that nothing is as peaceful as it seems.

"Don't see any Witches out there," she said, side-glancing Nick, "But just in case one happens upon us, don't you go getting tore up again."

"If things happen the way they did last night," Nick said slowly, "I'll get tore up all the time."

"Mm, I'm not that easy all the time," she said. "I was just desperate last night."

"Exceedingly so," he said. "But don't worry, you're cute when you're desperate."

"Cute?" she asked, one of her hands going to her hip. "That's all you're gonna give me after what happened?"

"Sweetheart, you kind of wore me out last night. I don't have the energy to give you anything else," he said, and this time she allowed herself to blush.

Stubborn and insufferable, he was.

And also the cause for the grin on Rochelle's face, even as they made their way back to the Burger Tank. She decided it was okay for herself to bask in the remaining afterglow of what had happened, and she realized that she actually kind of needed it. It gave her something to hold onto, something worth surviving for.

And Hell, once they all got out of this alive, she wasn't going to let Nick out of her sights.


End file.
